


Cruel and Unusual Punishment

by GenerallyDisinterested



Series: A Lesson in Limerence [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Magic Revealed, Non-Sexual Punishment Though Lol, Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-27 21:07:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenerallyDisinterested/pseuds/GenerallyDisinterested
Summary: Merlin is forced to consume a truth serum and confess his darkest secret to the entirety of Camelot as punishment for releasing three children who were scheduled to be executed.





	1. Moon Rose

Merlin doesn’t attempt to stifle his huff of annoyance as a dangling pot clangs painfully against his right shin. He hates Thursdays - having to clomp around all afternoon in the uncomfortable summer humidity with pots hanging off every one of his sides like he’s an inanimate object. It leaves him all sore, scratched up, and irritable, usually resulting in some sassy comments to Arthur that earns him a face full of royal pillow, thrown with an annoyingly accurate aim.

“Keep up, Merlin.” Gauis doesn’t bothering turning as he shouts carelessly over his shoulder. Merlin should be embarrassed that he constantly finds himself out done by the elderly man, but the raw annoyance leaves no room for shame. 

“I hate Thursdays,” he complains.

“I hate being late because someone won’t pick it up.” 

“Well I—

“Please.” Merlin’s retort is put on hold as a sharp, bony little hand spirals out with desperate speed and latches onto his wrist. He jumps, letting out a sharp gasp as a row of pots fall clattering to the dusty road. The golden headed girl staring at him from between the rustic bars of a menacing iron cage looks just barely a teenager, with young, feminine facial features and pleading blue eyes. The two small boys next to her match her appearance and the distress it harbors. 

“Gauis!” Merlin turns to for an explanation, horror dancing on his face. The old man presses his lips together in disfavor as he surveys the scene.

“I didn’t know they were so young.” 

“Who are they?” Gauis keeps his gaze on the children for a few seconds more before tugging Merlin to the side. 

“Their father was caught using sorcery. He escaped just earlier this week, didn’t you hear the warning bells?”

“I must’ve slept through them.” Merlin looks back at the terrified trio. “What’s this got to do with them? Did they help him escape?”

“There’s no direct proof, but it’s a simple conclusion to draw. Uther declared they be executed for his wrongs.” Merlin can’t quite believe the words he’s hearing. 

“ _They’re_ being killed for their father’s actions?” 

“The sorcery rate has been unusually high as of late. I believe our king is trying to send a message.” 

“They’re just children, Gauis! Innocent, young children who didn’t even do anything wrong!”

“Keep your voice down!” Gauis puts a hand on the small of Merlin’s back, ushering him away from the wide eyed, trembling prisoners. “You don’t need to draw more attention to yourself, particularly now. As I said, the discovery of sorcerers hiding in Camelot has been nearly a regular occurrence this week. Uther has the guards on high alert. You must promise me to stay out of this, Merlin.” Merlin looks over his shoulder, making eye contact with one of the little boys this time. He looks so terrified; so helpless. They all do. They all are.

The rest of the morning, Merlin is silent. He can’t find it in his heart to complain about collecting pots. Those children would be grateful to collect pots, if it meant getting out of that cage. They would hold out their wrists willingly and barely cringe as the ugly orange colored rust rubs their soft skin raw. Anything to see another sunshine.

Merlin is quite as he prepares Arthur for bed. He ignores the princes haughty comments and attempts at conversation. He really isn’t in the mood tonight.

Finding sleep proves to be a difficult challenge. Every time he closes his eyes, he can see that little girl, keeping her brother close under thin, trembling arms. Will Uther burn them all together, stand and watch expressionlessly as their three screams join in one pained howl? Or perhaps he’ll chop their heads off one by one, make them watch one another die. 

Merlin can’t let this happen. 

Gauis’s snores echoing off the clay walls promise deep sleep. Merlin doesn’t really need to be cautious of where he puts his feet, but does so anyway. He can’t afford to run into any complications so early on in the plan. Well, improvised plan, but still a plan.

Distracting the guards is easy. They get very jumpy at night, as in, all five of them leaving their posts to check on a mysterious sounds at the end of the hall kind of jumpy. Merlin grabs a torch from the wall as he sneaks into the dungeon. 

The cries are soft and heartbreaking, sounding softly from the very last cell. Merlin approaches cautiously, not wanting to frighten them.

“Hey,” he greets softly, streaming the light in. They look up, faces ignited in fear as the yellow flame highlights their tearstained features.

“Who are you?” The little boys voice is throaty and strained.

“I’m the one getting you out of here.” Merlin gazes back and forth, perhaps out of habit, before raising his palm to the lock. With a simple spell slipping off his tongue easy as a raindrop gliding down the surface of a leaf, it snaps in half and falls useless to the floor.

The warning bells sound by the time they are already outside. Merlin urges the children in front of him, not daring to spare a glance over his shoulder as they enter the forest. He can hear the impending sounds of hooves pounding against the ground. The guards are on horseback. Eight pairs of feet won’t be able to outrun them for long.

“Go through there!” Merlin points desperately to a small crevice between two rocks. The girl nods, somehow able to see the path through her tears. The horses are coming closer, their hooves sounding on the forest floor like thunder. “Go! Hurry!” 

Merlin waits until the children’s blond heads disappear into the darkness before raising his palm. With a growly whisper and a flash of amber in his eyes, the rocks give way, effectively providing the kids a head-start even the knights of Camelot cannot overrule. They will run somewhere far, far away. They’ll be safe. Merlin gets out a relieved breath. He did it. 

“Oy.” Merlin turns, gazing darlingly into the cold eyes of a portly, blond knight seated atop a grand steed.

“They’re gone.”

“You’re under arrest.” Merlin is barely even bothered as two of the knights demount and seize him ungently by the shoulders. Those kids have the rest of their lives to collect pots and complain about the weather. Because of him. 

It’s not until he’s on his knees before the king and his council that the fear kicks in. 

“You released them. Just like that. They could have been sorcerers, like their father. That’s treason!” Uther paces about, spitting out the words aggressively as if they contained the flavor of rotting eggs. 

“Oh absolutely. Freeing innocent children? I hardly feel safe knowing this criminal walks the streets,” Morgana scoffs in her sarcastic wit.

“Father, there was technically no hard evidence condemning those children,” Arthur adds. “Surely this doesn’t warrant a severe punishment.” 

“It surely does warrant a severe punishment!” Uther’s booming intonation makes Merlin crave the ability to turn invisible. “Freeing prisoners is an extremely serious crime!” Uther rounds on Merlin. “He must be made an example of.” 

“Please, Uther, he’s just a boy.” Merlin doesn’t like the panicked pitch in Gauis’s voice. It’s not like him. 

“An example must be made,” the king repeats stubbornly. “I won’t stand by and watch this foundation I built crumble to chaos.” Uther watches Merlin for a little, consideration setting in his stormy eyes. “Gauis, do you remember the truth punishments?” Gauis raises his wrinkled chin, alarmed, but trying not to show it. 

“They haven’t been preformed since you were a child, my lord.” 

“Well, I do believe certain circumstances require that streak to be broken.”

“What are the truth punishments?” Morgana sounds curious, surprised that there’s a punishment she doesn’t know about. Merlin is well aware of her strange fascination with the subject. He makes him wonder what her style is like in the bedchamber. 

“My lord, that potion requires a moon rose. Those plants thrive on the outskirts of Cenred’s kingdom, far from Camelot.” Gauis ignores the question, too caught up on the previous statement.

“I’ll request one be brought to us. I’m willing to pay handsomely.” 

“Sire, the side effects are rather dire. Even trained knights with unbelievable brawn used to be in my beds for days on end after consuming such a draught. Merlin isn’t the most… Heavily built. It would be extremely trying on his body.”

“He managed to run a bunch of kids around in the darkest hour of the night, I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Uther shoots Merlin another glare. “My mind is made up. A truth punishment is the only way to display the seriousness of this situation.”

“What are the truth punishments.” The anger is Arthur’s voice is masking concern, and Merlin can tell. Gauis looks the prince in his eyes. 

“It was a humiliation tactic, used commonly for more serious crimes that didn’t quite qualify for an execution or flogging. The juice from a moon roses pedal manipulates the mind and prods the honest, truth telling side of the brain. An elixir created from that ingredient can conjure the darkest of secrets from even the most strong willed of lips. The former king used to make people stand before the kingdom and confess the secret most important to their life personally.” Merlin feels a demanding bubble of sick form in his stomach as the reality of this situation sets in. He can just see it now - him, standing before a crowd, shamelessly and loudly declaring ‘I have magic.’ Before he knows it, he’d be in that cage where the children sat just one day ago. 

“No.” Arthur’s voice is firm. 

“This is not your decision to make.” Uther waves a dismissive hand, looking to one of the guards. “Send word to Cenred’s kingdom. We need the moon rose, as soon as possible.” 

“You’ll do no such thing.” Uther looks back at his son, raising an eyebrow at the bold declaration. Defying him before his court is more often a move performed by Morgana. 

“Need I remind you who is king?” 

“Father, I promise, nothing will happen like this again. He’s just a fool. Put him in the stocks for a week, and I’ll be sure to go heavy on his chores. He’ll be taught a lesson, but he doesn’t need to be publicly disgraced.”

“This is a more merciful option, Arthur. You’re lucky I’m not having him flogged in the streets until he coughs blood.” Arthur looks furious at the very prospect.

“These are the actions of a coward.”

“Excuse m—“

"People live in fear, not respect, fear and hatred, of you and all this family stands for because of your irrational, impulsive decisions such as this. Sometimes I am ashamed of you, father, sometimes we all are. Continue on this path and history will damn you as a tyrant. People will be ashamed forevermore.” Uther marches forward, only stopping when the princes golden bangs move a little in the angered winds of the kings heaving breaths. Arthur doesn’t budge, staring right back at his father with unwavering courage. Where oh where did Arthur Pendragon get all that remarkable courage?

“I am your king and I will not be insulted in such a way.”

“You will if you continue acting like a storybook villain.” Uther grits his teeth, fighting for calmness. 

“Put the boy in the dungeons for the night, the punishment will take place tomorrow. This meeting is over.” 

Merlin scarcely has time to breathe before is is seized yet again by the shoulders and dragged out of the room. Arthur’s angry yells grow distant and disoriented as he’s marched down the hall, briefing catching a few sympathetic gazes from eavesdropping servants and maids. His palms scrape painfully against the sharp hay as he’s tossed carelessly in a cell, but he hardly notices. He’s dead. He’s so dead. Arthur’s going to hate him. Everyone’s going to hate him. He’ll be burnt alive. What about his destiny? Whose going to protect Arthur when he’s gone? He’s failed. He’s not even dead yet, and he’s already failed.

Merlin isn’t sure when he starts crying, or when his cries turn to heaving sobs, or when his sobs melt to sleep. He’s emotionally strung out and exhausted - sleep is inevitable at some point or another. He may be about to sleep forever. 

He doesn’t awake until much later, prodded back to consciousness by a familiar voice calling his name. He looks up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as the slouched figure comes into focus. 

“Gauis!” Merlin stands to be at eye level.

“You’ve caused quite a riff, my boy.”

“What did Uther do to Arthur?” Merlin doesn’t even bothering asking about his inevitable execution. There’s no way Arthur could get out unscathed after that speech. He remembers when Uther locked up Morgana like an animal after she shouted at him for having jolly old Tom killed. 

“There was quite a fight, from what I heard. Uther is actually making Arthur preform the punishment in order to discipline him.”

“What do you mean carry out the punishment?” 

“He’ll have to be the one to ask you to expose your darkest secret. He’s being forced to carry a whip, so that if you somehow resist the roses authority, he can get it out of you physically.” Merlin closes his eyes.

“I’ll have to look Arthur in the eye and tell him I’m a sorcerer.”

“Oh no, absolutely not.” Gaius grips the bars, looking at Merlin with he upmost intensity. “You must not say that you have magic.”

“What? But… How? Do I get to pick what secret I say?” 

“No, if you were truly under the influence of the rose, you’d have no choice. The secret you hold dearest to you is the one that will come out. Not even one of your spells could resist, the rose has a way or working into the very weavings of the human brain.” Gauis looks around before leaning in. “You’re not going to be under the influence of the rose. I’ll be making your serum with a simple white flower.” Merlin blinks. Of course, he’s in no danger with Gauis is brewing his tonic. Why didn’t he think of that before? 

“Oh… Of course.” Merlin wipes at the dried tear stains layering his dirt covered cheek, embarrassed by his overreaction. “What are you going to do with the actual moon rose?”

“Destroy it, of course. Or maybe I’ll keep it. Truth serums are becoming more and more necessary as you are becoming increasingly idiotic. I’d be nice to know what’s going on in there.” Merlin laughs.

“I’m sorry for freeing innocent, helpless children. I’ll never happen again.”

“It better not.” The two laugh, quickly sombering their expressions when a curious knight peers around the corner. “The only flaw is your symptoms, they’re a bit too severe to feign. I’ll give you some of those purple berries your stomach doesn’t agree with.” Merlin groans.

“No, ugh, those made me feel like death itself.” 

“Not as much as the actual rose would have, believe me.” He glances down the hall, hearing footsteps. “I’ll see you at dawn, then. Come up with something to tell Arthur.” 

“Yeah, okay, thank you.” 

Merlin stays up for most of that night, concocting a lie. He’s going to admit to a gambling problem that has once lost him nearly all of his families earnings and driven him to dishonesty and some low grade thievery. Arthur would believe it, with all the time he already thinks he spends in the tavern. It may land him in the stocks to compensate the stealing part, but overall, it’ll fade. Arthur will probably turn it into a teasing mechanism, if anything. It’ll be yet another thing to add to the list of activities he is terrible at. ’Good lord Merlin, you can’t even roll a dice properly.’

Still better than execution. 

The guards come in at exactly the stroke of dawn. Merlin hopes his face shows suitable concern as he’s dragged to the grand entryway, where Uther stands alongside an angry looking Arthur and Morgana, who, as always, is next to Guinevere. A man in a dark cloak Merlin doesn’t recognize stands where Gauis would normally be, watching Merlin with calculating blue eyes.

“Bring forth the execution block,” Uther demands. “My son will take it from there.” 

The crowd is enormous, even bigger than those assembled at public executions and speeches. Everybody loves hearing secrets. The infamous wooden block where so many have lost their head is placed in the center of the circular assembly, but this time, a chair is put on top of it. 

“Sire?” Gauis emerges from the doorway, confusion in his voice. Merlin cranes his neck to look at him. 

“Gauis,” Uther greets. 

“May I ask what’s going on?”

“Is your memory beginning to fade, physician? I seem to recall you being present at yesterdays meeting.” 

“Well, yes, I was, but I have not yet brewed the tonic needed. It will take at least an hour to get the consistency right. I wasn’t even given the rose.” Uther looks to the untitled man in the cape. 

“Cenred took the liberty of having his court physician prepare the serum ahead of time.” Merlin feels his heart skip a beat. 

“I… Sire, I assure you, I’ve been reading up on this brew for years. I used to prepare the draughts your father used on wrongdoers. We wouldn’t want something to go wrong.” 

“Are you implying that my work is not as good as yours?” The man under the cape looks rather offended. 

“No, I—“

“What, just because you’re from Camelot, you know everything? Why, if my master knew of this behavior—“ 

“Forgive my physician, he didn’t mean to offend. Sometimes knowing the right things to say fades with age.” Uther shoots Gauis a warning glance, willing him to stay silent. “We’re honored to use your elixir, simply honored.” 

“But I…”

“Hold your tongue, Gauis. Guards, escort the boy to his chair.” Merlin’s heart is thumbing out of his chest. He tries to struggle, but it doesn’t seem like the guards even notice his pathetic attempts. Oh dear lord, it’s over now, it’s over. He’s going to have to confess. He’s going to tell everyone, tell Arthur, he’s a sorcerer. He’s going to hate him. He’ll have him killed. Decapitated, burned, hanged, drowned. 

Uther signals for Arthur to step forward once Merlin is forced to a seated position. He is not tied down, but two strong hands are resting on each of his shoulders. Arthur is pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand as if trying to sooth a headache. The other is holding a long, dangerous looking whip with what appears to be animal fangs lining the leather lash. Merlin knows he isn’t going to use it, unless Uther actually grabs his wrist and forces the action. 

Merlin tries to resist the serum at first. Cenred’s physician tells him to open his lips, and he keeps them sealed. Annoyed, he shoves the glass veil in his face, trying to pry his mouth open. 

“Gentle,” Gwen begs. Morgana puts a hand on her shoulder. 

It takes nearly two minutes until the physician quite literally shoves a finger down his throat. Merlin gags, opening his mouth to sputter some unattractive chocking noises. Impending dread settles on him when he feels the cold liquid slither down his throat. Pleased, the physician steps away. 

“Alright then, Merlin.” Arthur’s voice is loud, but gentle. His eyes are soft and apologetic. Oh god, he’s going to hate him. Maybe he’ll use that whip to strike his cheek seconds after his confession, and it won’t hurt as much as the terror Arthur’s pretty blue eyes contained during those seconds….

Merlin feels suddenly relaxed. The serum has taken hold of his mind, and it’s not an entirely unpleasant sensation, like breaking down all the walls he’s built so securely and bled to keep up. Why did he feel the need to keep them secure? Why does anyone feel the need to keep anything? It’s so much nicer this way, so much more serene. He’s drifting gently into the void of vulnerability without protest. 

Arthur clears his throat. “I, Arthur Pendragon, command you, Merlin, to reveal your darkest secret.”

Merlin smiles agreeably, dazed. 

“I love you.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I love you.”

The three simple words hang in the air, met with absolute silence. It seems even the non-human residents of Camelot have stopped moving noisily about to create this mute recipient. Merlin smiles, still blissfully under the roses domination. 

Unfortunately for his mental state, it fades as soon as it took hold. 

Oh god.

Arthur is staring into Merlin’s eyes, body tensed and still as a statue carved from the finest of marble. His face can only be described as astounded, more so than he looks when coming across some horribly ugly creature on a fateful hunting trip or precarious voyage. He’s always quick to action under those circumstances, never allowing a hint of fear to show and walking triumphantly away from the impaled beast’s corpse a few moments later. But now, he doesn’t know what to do. He’s completely shocked into unassertiveness.

Oh god. 

Merlin feels his chest tighten with anxiety. Everyone’s staring at him. The king staring at him. Morgana and Gwen are staring at him. Arthur is staring at him. _Arthur is staring at him._

Merlin squirms, desperate to get away. He can’t stay here. Everyone is watching. Arthur is watching. He has to go. He has to run. Run far and fast. The guards tighten their hold on Merlin’s shoulder, glancing to the king for permission. The older man sputters, quick wit torn down by secondhand mortification. 

“I… Er… Let this be a lesson not to… Oh for gods sake, let the boy go before he breaks his shoulders.” 

Merlin dashes the second he’s released, weaving through the stricken crowd distortedly. He doesn’t bother tossing halfhearted apologies over his shoulder at the people brushed against or bumped into, as he usually does when clumsily racing through the castle on a errand for Arthur. He doesn’t care about punctuality or politeness. He just has to get out of here. 

Blood pounds in his ears as he sprints, approaching the mouth of the forest after what seems like too long a time. There’s an unpleasant sick swelling in his abdomen that he chooses to ignore for the time being. It’s a bit harder to ignore the blurriness and colorful spots taking a part in his vision, and the invisible hand that appears to be grasp around his brain and squeezing with fingers of iron. Merlin’s body aches, begging him for a break, but he can’t stop moving, even if his running his is slowed to walking because coordination is becoming increasingly difficult. 

He can’t exactly pinpoint the precise moment his knees give way and ungracefully flop him to a helpless mound of the damp forest floor, but it happens. He wraps his arms around himself and whimpers, as though releasing the noise will take the hurt away. His body appears to be attempting to turn itself inside out. It begins this indelicate process by emptying the contents of his stomach onto the shrub next to him, filling the clearing with an unpleasant aroma that makes him feel, if possible, worse. 

Merlin doesn’t process the fact that he’s not alone with his misery until he actually feels a hand placed on his back. He’s lifted into a set of study arms with ease and carried briskly to a chestnut colored horse. His savior is identified instantly when ginger curl tickles lightly against his cheek. Of course, Sir Leon would be the one to find him. He’s always the most thorough in his patrolling.

Merlin leans into the knight, sighing in relaxation. His iron plates bearing Camelot’s bold crest mingles in scent with the beads of sweat tangled under his thick hair. Oddly, it calms Merlin’s stomach a bit. Arthur smells that way often after a long day of training. It’s become a fragrance Merlin enjoys by association. Afternoon Arthur. The whiff of snide comments on Merlin’s little attention to detail and failed service, the essence of a big, greedy appetite, the lingering tang of shirtless nighttime Arthur flopping in bed, already half asleep before the covers are pulled over his perfectly formed body and blissfully unaware of the desirous look his servant spares him ever so sneakily before rushing off to his own bed, where his dreams will be only of the prince. 

He really is in love, isn’t he? 

“Merlin,” Gaius's voice is relieved and breathless, as though he had been holding it in before. Merlin supposes they’re in Camelot now, considering the idle chatter sounding from around him. He doesn’t dare open his eyes, already knowing that idle chatter is about his little display earlier. 

“I found him lying in the woods. He doesn’t look well, Gaius.”

“Of course he doesn’t. He’s much too young to drink that wrecked potion, come on, we need to get him in bed.” 

Merlin keeps his face hidden away in the crook of Leon’s neck as he’s carried bridal style down the halls of Camelot. He’ll need to find a new way to hide once he’s forced to part with Leon’s arms. God, in one swift gulp, his life is changed forever. The jokes he cracks in the servants quarter will surely fall flat with a cringe worthy five second silence following it, the girls will giggle mockingly when he walks by, the knights will shoot him suspicious looks as he’s helping Arthur on with his armor… Or, will he even be allowed to do that anymore? Maybe Uther will say that it’s not suiting for a servant to be in love with his master. Maybe Arthur will agree. 

“Oh dear god, Merlin.” Gwen’s voice is shrill with panic. Her heels click on the stone floor as she trots to keep up. “Is he alright?”

“He will be.” Merlin can tell by the smell that they’ve entered Gaius's chambers. 

“Oh Merlin…” Merlin takes pity on her obvious destress and spares her a small smile as he’s placed gently on a rustic wooden desk. 

“Hi,” he greets airily. The smile she reciprocates makes him feel approximately two inches tall. 

“Gwen, go fetch some more fresh water.” Gaius hands her an empty pale. “Briskly.” The girl doesn’t need to be told twice.

“I must inform the prince.” Leon excuses himself as well, shooting Merlin a pitying look before he leaves. That’s going to be his life now, isn’t it. Pity and likely some scorn from the small minded townspeople and ignorant nobles. Great. Just great. 

“You should try to get some sleep, Merlin.” Gauis’s voice is low, sympathetic to the nature of his headache. “Rest is crucial for this recovery.” 

“I just don’t get it.” Gauis runs a hand across Merlin’s forehead, frowning at the damp results. 

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Why didn’t I say I have magic? Why did I tell them all… Why didn’t I say I’m a sorcerer?” A warm smile plays at Gauis’s lips. 

“Because it isn’t your darkest secret.”

“But it is. I’d be dead if it gets out.”

“Merlin, think about it. The first week you arrived, I would walk in every day to see you preforming some levitating nonsense. You constantly use your gifts in front of knights and servants to the king. Why, Merlin, you’ve nearly lost your head more times than I can count. That’s not how you would treat your dearest secret. That’s something you’d protect from everyone, even yourself.” Merlin blinks, mulling this over. 

“I… Did you know?” The old man chuckles.

“I had my suspicions.”

“Really? I—“

“Merlin.” Both heads turn to see Morgana, standing beside Guinevere, who rushes in to supply the requested water. Her mistress follows suit. “How are you?”

“Not dead.” 

“Well, you look on your way to it.” Merlin laughs lightly. Morgana’s bluntness is refreshing in comparison to the others who have been gazing upon him like a kicked puppy. “What can I do?”

“No, Morgana, I’m fi—“

“You and Guinevere can carry him to the bed and begin nursing his fever. I’ll brew some pain tonics.” Merlin’s face flushes red. 

“Gauis! They can’t carry me!”

“Why? Because we’re weak, frail little women whom are unable to pursue any task by our pretty little selves?” The ‘try me’ flare in Morgana’s dangerous eyes will Merlin to stay silent. 

“Come on Merlin, the iron I used to carry for my father weighed more than you,” Gwen teases playfully, moving to grab hold of his feet. “We’ve got this.” 

It turns out, they do have this. Morgana holds Merlin easily under the arms and Gwen carries his legs without struggle. The transport up to his bed is actually comfortable, even more so than that time Arthur slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes after he chugged the infamous poisoned chalice (although Merlin wouldn’t object to Arthur carrying him like that, or any way, really, a second time.) He smiles bashfully as Gwen pulls the blanket over him. 

“Thanks.”

“Get some rest.” 

Getting rest isn’t easy, as it turns out. There’s a lot of tossing, turning, and sweating rivers. He believes he gets an hour somewhere in there, if he were to add up all of the five minute slumbers he’s managed. It’s a miserable night, one of the worst he’s had to endure. He walks downstairs around dawn, hair disheveled and prominent bags under his eyes. Gauis frowns up from his books as Merlin takes a shaky seat at the table.

“You don’t look quite as well rested as I had hoped.” 

“‘Don’t feel it either, trust me.” He reaches meekly for the pitcher of water, holding it at bay as he searches for a cup to pour some in. His mouth feels like sandpaper and may sprout a cactus without some refreshment.

“Gauis?” 

The voice sounds strangely loud; Merlin can’t quite tell if it actually sparked an echo or it’s just his pulsing brain capsule that created the repercussions. He jumps aggressively, promptly spilling the remains of the pitcher all over his already sweat glistened body. 

“Curses,” he hisses, face turning vibrantly scarlet when he makes eye contact with the figure in the doorway. Arthur has that all mighty leader-est look, with lightly ruffled golden hair and a trace of dirt lining his perfectly chiseled jawline. He’s clearly just come in from training the knights - he never prances around or attempts to remain elegant during their sessions. Everything Arthur does, he does with the upmost effort. 

“Merlin.” Arthur’s greeting is light and professional, though an underlay of tenseness doesn’t pass Merlin’s notice. It’s not the same. How can it be? Not only does Arthur know, but Merlin does too. It’s not that he didn’t know before, somewhere deep inside of him he always has, but it was quieter, like a gentle reminder whispered in his ear from time to time - easy to ignore or pretend he didn’t hear. Now it’s loud and abrasive, blaring in a obnoxious tone every time Arthur smiles that golden smile. 

“Sire.” His response isn’t nearly as elegant, as his voice cracks embarrassingly on the ‘ire.’ He looks down instantly. 

“Is everything alright, sire?” Gauis scoops up a blanket from a nearby bench and hands it offhandedly to Merlin, who takes it with a shaking wrist. 

“Elyan’s head struck a stone. I didn’t want to risk hurting him more by trying to move him. He’s out in the field. If you could just take a look…” 

“Of course.” With a bow, Gauis is gone. Merlin keeps his eyes peeled on the emptied pitcher, waiting for Arthur’s boots to clomp against the wooden floor as he follows. They don’t. 

“Merlin.” Merlin closes his eyes, taking a breath of suppressed panic before looking up. 

“Sire?”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ve definitely been better.” The amusement reaches Arthur’s eyes before his chest lifts and falls in a small snicker. It’s something Merlin has taken note of several times - his eyes always give away his emotions before the rest of his body reacts. It’s kind of beautiful, really. Merlin wishes he could have a picture painted of the prince’s eyes just a millisecond before he lets out a bellowing laugh, loud and proud like the rest of him. 

“Well, at least you’re not dying.” 

“Yeah, I have that going for me.” I silence weaves its way between the two. It’s awkward. It’s so awkward Merlin can barely allow himself to breathe, fearing that any noise will worsen the already bad. 

“Erm, listen, Merlin—“

“Do we have to discuss it?” The words slip from Merlin’s lips at a frightening speed, not entirely with permission from his brain. Arthur blinks.

“What?”

“I… I just don’t see the point in talking about what I said yesterday.” Arthur’s face becomes gentle, which somehow makes Merlin feel even more embarrassed. 

“Merlin, we can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“But why?”

“Because… It’s important.”

“Not really. Nothing will come of it. It’s just… Feelings.”

“It’s important for us to discuss, for the foundation of both our professional and personal relationship. I do consider you a friend, Merlin, a close one at that—“ 

“So why danger that with my silliness?” 

“Merlin, you can’t just set aside love.”

“I can too. You’re the only always telling me to buck up, stop being such a girl. Let’s not forget about the unicorn.” Merlin stands quickly, making his way across the room to refill the pitcher and finding an excuse to turn his back to Arthur in the process. He can still feel the princes blue eyes bearing into his back, but it’s better than having to look him in the face. 

“Merlin—“

“Stop.”

“No, Merlin, you stop being an idiot. You’re in love with me. I won’t ignore that. You’re the one being weak if that’s your approach to this situation.”

“Arthur—“

“How long has this been going on?”

“Arthur, stop.”

“Have you always loved men, or is it just me?”

“Shut up, you prat, I’m not in love with you!” Merlin keeps his back turned, refusing to let Arthur see the tears brewing in his eyes. He does love him, more than anything in the world. But nothing will ever happen. Arthur’s a prince, and one day he’ll be a king. He’ll be the best king in all of the world. And Merlin… He’s just a nobody. The prophecy is wrong. There’s no way that he, a scrawny, irresponsible little serving boy can protect someone like Arthur Pendragon. Hell, Arthur’s almost died under his watch more times than he can count. Arthur deserves a better protector. It’s not him. It’s never been him. He doesn’t belong here. 

He doesn’t belong anywhere. 

“Merlin, don’t be ridiculous. The moon rose said it all.”

“No, Arthur, it didn’t. I… I resisted it.” Arthur scoffs. His boots clomp across the floor in a frustrated pace. 

“You didn’t.

“Yes, I did.”

“Alright, fine, then tell me, _Merlin_ , how’d you do it? How did your little body resist the most powerful truth potion in all of the five kingdoms?” Merlin closes his eyes. He doesn’t care anymore, really. He doesn’t care about anything. 

“Because I’m a sorcerer.” Arthur’s laugh echoes off the clay paved walls. 

“Oh, yes, of course, how did I not notice. It all seems so obvious now. You’re clearly writhing with magic, no ordinary man could be so monumentally _stupid_.” 

“Arthur, I’m serious.”

“Sure. Of course you’re a sorcerer, Merlin. And I’m a simple peasant boy making my earnings off selling our old family cow’s curdling milk.” 

“Arthur!” His voice is louder and angrier than usual, causing an effective halt to the sarcasm. Merlin whirls around, looking Arthur directly in the eye before lifting his palm. With a snake like whisper and a pinch of concentration between his eyes, an old, wax crusted candle sitting on the dinner table ignites instantly, quickly forming a grand golden dragon in the magically tampered flame. The way it flies reminds him of Kilgarrah. Merlin tilts his head, whispering an adjustment that adds a little fiery knight, riding bravely on horseback to the flaming beast. A little fiery Arthur. 

The image denigrates into gray smoke after a few more moments of action and drifts mindlessly out the opened window. Merlin lowers his hand and stares at his feet. He feels an acute combination of numb and shaky, as though he’s outside of his body watching himself. He’s kept this secret for so long. So many people have almost died because of this secret. And now, here is he, rolling over and showing his belly without so much as a snarl to prompt his surrender. He might as well be bringing the axe down on his own throat. 

He dares to look up at Arthur only when he feels he’ll actually die if the silence continues. The older man is still staring at the candle, expression unreadable. 

“Arthur?” No response. Just staring at the candle. What’s so interesting about that damn candle? “Arthur,” he attempts weakly. “Say something.” Silence. “Please.” 

“I…” Arthur looks at Merlin as though they’ve never met before, as though Merlin is another species all together. “I must go check on Elyan.”

“Arthur…“

“Let me be, Merlin. You need to sleep.“ Arthur’s voice drifts on the last sentence as he turns, walking stiffly to the door. 

“Arthur!” Merlin starts after him. “Stop. Please.”

“Get away from me. Don’t follow… Get away. Stay away.” Merlin reaches out, grabbing hold of Arthur’s wrist.

“Arthur plea—“

“I said get away!” The prince moves quickly, and his servant doesn’t dodge.

The sound of Arthur’s hand connecting with Merlin’s soft cheek makes a small echo, and bounces jarringly around the sides of his head. He lifts ashaking hand to the tender skin, finding himself unable to let his fingertips graze the spot. Warmth radiates half a centimeter away, portraying the temperature of the area that as clearly turning pink, so distinguishably pink and dark that the shapes of fingers will soon be recognizable. Maybe Arthur’s hand will brand a black and blue bruise onto Merlin’s face for all to see. It seems suiting. He’s always bruised so easily. 

Arthur leaves before Merlin can tell if there’s an apology in his eyes. He leaves before Merlin can ask if he’s going in inform his father. Merlin doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. Arthur slapped him. He told him to get away, to stay away. The man he loves wants him to stay away. 

Merlins flops himself down on the bench, letting his head rest on the dinner table. He closes his eyes and feigns sleep, adding some small snores to make it more realistic when Gaius’s footsteps approach. His old man doesn’t ‘wake’ him, and busies himself with some reading. 

Merlin keeps his head down when Morgana comes in, complaining about her recent lack of sleep. Gaius promises to strengthen her sleeping draught and offers her a bed to rest in for the meantime. Merlin squints his eyes open to watch her settle in one of the patient lofts and pull the woolen blanket completely over her. She comes in quite often to hide under the covers and try for some sleep. It must be terribly hard being Uther’s ward, Merlin thinks. All eyes on her nearly all the time, some judgmental, some adoring, some uninnocently wondering what she looks like under her extravagant party dresses. 

The three coexist in peace awhile more, no sounds to disturb them other than soft breathing from the two nappers and the occasional rustle of a page turning in Gauis’s textbook. It’s very relaxing. Merlin is actually well on his way to real sleep, until an abrupt knock on the side of the door startles him. He plays it off as some sleepy shifting and continues to fake snore. 

“Gaius.” Cenred’s physician. Merlin recognizes the shrill voice who insisted on using his brew instead of the fake one. 

“Can I help you?” Gaius's voice is tight. Merlin can perfectly invasion that irritated, raised eyebrow look he wears when conversing with someone he doesn’t particularly like. 

“I just came to check on the boy. Napping, I see.”

“Peacefully. I doubt all five kingdoms could wake him at this point.” 

“Good, good.” The physician moves closer to Gaius, taking slow, long steps. Merlin opens his eyes, prepared to close them quickly if the attention turns back to him. “You know, Camelot is a very nice place.”

“Indeed.” Gaius reopens the book, subtly implying he has work to do. The physician doesn’t seem to catch on. 

“Particularly in our humble profession, so it seems. I’ve been treated so kindly. Uther actually extended a permanent invitation as court physician - as a joke, of course, we hear of your wonders far and wide.” The younger man moves to stand behind Gaius. “He did say if anything were to happen to you, though, I would be welcome to the job.”

“Ah. Well, I’m old, but I believe I still have a few good years in me.” 

“Of course, of course. Opportunities never have a habit of coming to me easily.”

“Excuse me—“

“That is, unless I seize the moment.” What happens next happens so fast. A silver knife is whisked from beneath a wing of the man’s cloak, a long, jagged thing that will go down in Merlin’s memory as a tool of evil. The sound following reminds Merlin of Arthur’s hunting knife diving brutally into the skull of a deer when he plunges it down into Gaius’s scalp. One, sickening thud, and stunned silence following. Red blood settles down into his white hair. He’s still for a moment, then falls backwards. The blood is on his face. It’s in his eyes, along his wrinkles, between his lips. It’s everywhere. 

Merlin feels a scream, but doesn’t hear it. He knows he’s running, but doesn’t feel his legs moving. He takes Gaius into his arms, cradling his head, begging from him to say something, but he doesn’t. He’s still, pale as a sheet with the knife sticking out of the top of his head as proudly as that sword looked mounted in the rock. His cheek cold to the touch. He’s dead. Gaius is dead. 

Merlin scarcely hears his screeches of agony. He hardly feels the furious gust of wind playing with his hair, or notices the books flying off the shelves, glass veils shattering to bits, strange beetles or slimy lizards dropping dead where they stand. 

Gaius is dead. 

He doesn’t process that his magic is coming out in grief, or hear the shocked voice utter ‘He’s a sorcerer’ and reform it a few times to confirm. He takes no notice of the wicked man hobbling out of his room, frightened for his life. He doesn’t know that he’s going directly to the kings quarters, already forming a plot to frame the murder on Merlin. 

Gaius is dead. 

“Merlin.” Morgana’s voice is thick in his ear, verging on tears. “Merlin. Get up. We have to run. You have to hide.” 

Gaius. So direct, but so tender. More than a father, more than anyone. Gaius who helped him conceal his magic, talked him through every problem that came his way, steered him away from so many bad paths and lead him to so many good ones. Gaius. His friend, his family. He’s dead. Gaius is dead. 

“Merlin, stop, come on, the guards will be here any minute.” The wind has stopped, replaced with Merlin’s sobs. They heave out with goat like audio, depriving his lunges of any breath. “Merlin. He’s dead. We can’t do anything for him now. Come on. We have to go.” 

Merlin feels nothing but numbness as Morgana rushes him down the halls, to the safety of her quarters. His heart doesn’t lurch at the footsteps of the guards, or blaring rings of the warning bells. Everything a person can possibly feel is blocked out and replaced with a pit of sadness, a sadness so intense he’s sure it will devour him any second. 

Gaius is dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update hgwdae,jgdfmefa
> 
> Um so yeah, this got sad. Sorry for killing Gauis??? Tbh I didn't want to and kinda hated writing it but it hadda happen for the story. Also Arthur slapping Merls was painful but it haDDA HAPPEN...
> 
> Thank you so much for your support!!! Y'all are awesome little jellybeans who deserve happiness and a lifetime supply of caffeine and candy.


	3. Chapter 3

“Has he eaten?”

“He refuses to.”

“Will he at least sip some water?”

“I tried to hydrate him by force, he keeps his lips sealed shut.”

Morgana and Guinevere’s conference is anything but inaudible. It’s almost as if they want Merlin to hear, or maybe just assume his senses have shut off completely. He can only imagine what state he looks in right now - pale, sweaty, eyes red and glazed with sadness, but forced to openness. He can’t bring himself to close them. Every time he does, the screen of darkness projects Gauis, all bloody and lifeless with that knife sprouting brutally from his reddened hair. 

A harsh knock doesn’t make Merlin jump. He’s not scared. Let Uther’s guards grab him by the shoulders, drag him back up to that block and give him an axe, rather than a rose. He only regrets that wasn’t done earlier. Gauis would still be alive had it unfolded that way. 

Guinevere’s gentle arms wrap around him with maternal kindness as Morgana pulls the fabric screen shut, shielding them from the unwelcome visitors. Merlin leans again his friend, noting her elevated heartbeat. He wishes she wouldn’t be scared. He doesn’t deserve such a nice girls fear, or friendship, or even a fleeting glance at the marketplace. He doesn’t deserve anyone, not anymore. Not after getting Gauis killed. 

“Who is it?” Morgana’s voice is tense.

“Arthur.” Morgana pauses, as though considering if she should just leave him out there. She must acknowledge that he will get through that door one way or another as her heels click on the ground and the door creeks in opening. 

“Father sent me to check on you.” Arthur’s boots make sturdy shifts as he moves inside. “How are you holding up?

“I’m fine.” A pause. “Well, I will be. It’s an awful thing that happened today.” 

“Of course. Gauis was something of a parental figure to all of us. To some, he was more than a father.” Merlin feels Gwen’s chest rise in a silent draw of breath. 

“I suppose you’re looking for Merlin, then?” It’s obvious what Arthur is referencing. Morgana’s avoidance of the matter would look even more suspicious. She’s a smart girl, far smarter than anyone else on Uther’s council. 

“I thought you may know something. You often rest in Gauis’s chambers around the time of day Cenred’s physician claims the murder took place. I presume you saw the entire thing?”

“I—“

“And I presume Merlin is behind the screen, as the druid boy was?” Silence. They’re caught.

“Please, Arthur.” It’s Gwen who speaks this time. She props Merlin against the stone wall and yanks aside the screen. “He didn’t do it. He would never hurt anyone, least of all Gauis.”

“It was the physician,” Morgana chimes in. “I saw the entire thing. He wanted the luxuries Camelot has to offer those in positions of power.”

“I figured that much, damn it. I’m not as big a fool as you think.” When Merlin opens his eyes, Arthur is looking right at him. “Merlin’s a sorcerer.” The fluctuation of anger when saying his name makes Merlin wince. “All along, a sorcerer…”

“He’s your best friend.” Morgana steps forward, looking upon Arthur with the same shameless courage she uses to look at her king. “He’s fought along side you, protected you and your loved ones. He’s a friend to all of us, Arthur. Magic doesn’t condemn one to evilness, despite your father’s narrow minded views.” 

“Leave Uther out of this. This is about _him_. He lied to me.”

“To protect his life!”

“What kind of coward lies about who they are? About who they love?” 

“You would do the same had you been forced to walk in his shoes. And we all know he loves you. Uther forced him to admit that much.” Arthur’s laugh drips with sarcasm.

“Well isn’t it lucky that he’s has all that magic, then?”  
“Don’t be a fool, Arthur. A god couldn’t resist a serum of that kind.” Merlin closes his eyes again.

“How do you know that?” Arthur’s voice is tight. 

“I researched the moon rose the night after Uther passed the punishment. No living thing can resist it. Legend said it was crafted in the time of the old religion, made to be so powerful even the best sorcerers couldn’t fib through it.” Merlin can’t open his eyes. He can’t face Arthur. Not now. Not ever. 

Gauis raised Arthur, too. Merlin took Gauis away from him. Merlin took Gauis away from all of them. 

“Why do you always lie to me?” Arthur sounds more hurt than angry. It prompts Merlin to look up, and the princes eyes match his tone. They’re so… Sad.

“I’m sorry,” he tries lamely. Arthur looks at him like he’s a question he can’t quite figure out. 

“We have to get you out of Camelot.” Morgana’s eyes brighten. 

“You’re going to help?” The nod is curt and emotionless, an expression he maintains when the ward tosses her arms around him. “Arthur… Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.” 

“Uther must be distracted,” Arthur continues, unfazed by the affectionate act. “Morgana. You must… Request dinner with him. Say this murder has really frightened you and—“

“Reminds me of my father,” Morgana finishes, a definitive smile on her face. “That one always works.” Gwen blinks, probably wondering how her mistress can turn from such a gem of a woman to an evil mastermind in just under a second. 

“Right. And I’ll take a knight to look for Merlin.” 

“But which knight will keep him a secret?” Gwen asks. “They’re loyal to the king.”

“Merlin.” Arthur glances back down at his servant, mischief in his eyes. “If we can find a helmet big enough for that daft head of yours.” 

Merlin glares, and for a fraction of a second, it’s normal again. Then that fraction becomes a whole and Arthur’s face falls back to coldness. 

“And then, when we reach Camelot’s border, you’ll run. And if you ever return, I won’t be there to protect you.” 

It’s a lie. Of course Arthur would help. That’s the kind of man Arthur is. He’s kind as any mother being that pompous front and beautifully honorable. He’s everything a prince should be. That’s why Merlin loves him. That’s why everyone loves him, why he’ll make a great king, the greatest king to ever walk the earth.

Merlin only wishes he would be there to see it. 

 

Uther Pendragon is a supremely unobservant man, particularly when magic is ebbing away at his brain. He sends Arthur away to search without a second glance at the random knight standing beside his son with a posture more rigid than most. Nobody bats an eyebrow as the two walk down the steps side by sides. Everybody is deeply engaged in conversation.

“His servant, can you believe? Can’t trust anyone these days.” 

“In love with him all this time. I should have known. Nobody drinks poison for a friend.”

“Gauis has been the court physician for as long as I can remember. I wonder who’ll take his place now.” 

Merlin bites his lip and wills the tears away. Knights don’t cry. They’re barely even people, he’s always thought. His brain turned them into nothing but a military device - about as intimate as a sword. Sword’s don’t cry. Swords also don’t get their father figure murdered brutally, but that’s beside the point. He has to keep it together. 

Merlin takes off the helmet once they’re in the safe sanctuary of woods. It was getting all stuffy and hot. The air feels nice. The trees are pretty. He’s going to miss trekking around these woods with Arthur. The amount of times they’ve nearly gotten killed is almost comedic, to Merlin at least. Arthur usually seems to agree based on how many lighthearted jokes he makes afterwords. 

“We’re going to Ealdor,” Arthur says suddenly. 

“Wouldn’t that be an obvious place for them to look?”

“No. I told him you were born in Odin’s kingdom, and that your village was burned down just a little before you came to Camelot.” Merlin blinks.

“O-oh. Um. Thank you.” Arthur doesn’t respond. They walk for a long while in silence, until Arthur again speaks up. 

“Is what Morgana said true?” 

“What?”

“About the rose. Did you… Were you telling the…” He shakes his head after a few more seconds of grappling. 

“It’s true,” Merlin says. Arthur doesn’t respond, but the slowness in his pace shows he’s listening. “I couldn’t resist it, even with the magic. I was telling the truth.” 

“So… You’re…”

“Yes.” Maybe it’s the fact that they’re about to part forever that is giving Merlin this courage. Maybe he’s just held it in too long, and it’s finally time to speak truthfully. Merlin believes it to be the latter. “I am. Always have been. Always will be.” 

“Then why did you lie to me?” Arthur stops now to face Merlin. “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth? All this time, you watched me bumble around looking for the sorcerers my father sent me after, and you were, are, one yourself.”

“Well, you’d have had my executed, for starters.” 

“I—“ Arthur falls flat. 

“Yeah, exactly.” Merlin looks up at the trees. “I just… Wanted to… I don’t know. I wanted to stay. With you. In Camelot. That’s all.” Arthur looks dumbstruck. 

“No credit? No glory? Not even a pat on the back? You had me think you were a fool.” 

“I didn’t want credit. Just…” He shrugged. “You were more important. If anyone found out I had magic, I’d have to leave.”

“Or be killed,” Arthur adds.

“Yeah. Either way, I wouldn’t get to see you anymore.” 

Arthur says nothing for awhile. He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again, but doesn’t say anything. There’s a solid minute before Arthur says “You really are in love with me, then.” 

“I really am.” 

A longer silence dawns this time. A silence that lasts most of the walk. Arthur is a few paces ahead, as usual, and Merlin trails behind. The sun, beginning to set, frames the trees nicely. A warm wind plays with Merlin’s hair. It’s a nice evening. 

They venture a little past the border of Camelot before Arthur turns. 

“Will you be able to find your way to Ealdor from here?”

“Yes.” 

“Okay.” 

Silence precedes. Arthur is looking at Merlin in the same way he did earlier, like a question he can’t figure out.

“I…” The prince shakes his head and chuckles. A small smile ebbs on Merlin’s lips.

“What?” 

“Nothing. It’s just…” He looks Merlin back in the eyes. “I’m going to miss you.” 

“Oh. Yeah. Me too.” 

Another wind drifts in, hitting Arthur’s back full on. He takes that excuse to step forwards, face adapting a very intense look. Merlin feels his heart speed up as the space between them becomes gradually smaller and smaller, until he can feel the warmth radiating from Arthur’s chest. Arthur looks Merlin in the eyes, glances down to his lips, then looks back at his eyes. Choir bells seem to be dinging in the distance. Everything is slow.

Arthur takes a step back and puts a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, tightening his fingers for a second in a small squeeze. 

“Take care of yourself.” 

“You too.” 

The exchange is quick and mechanical, and then Arthur’s gone, leaving the space in front of Merlin larger and emptier than it seemed before. 

 

Hunith cries when Merlin tells her all that’s happened over the past few days, from the children to the rose to the love confession to Gauis’s death to the magic reveal to here. She wraps him in a hug, whispering praises he doesn’t deserve. 

“It’s not your fault,” she says. 

_It is,_ he thinks. 

Merlin busies himself with farm work for the days following. He tends to the goats, cleans the hay, cooks dinner. It’s a sharp transition from royal kitchens and grand steeds, but it’s fine. 

His innocence must have been proven within the week, because a fancy parchment letter is delivered on horseback from Camelot. It’s hand written from Uther, apologizing for what’s he’s been through and assuring that Cenred’s sorcerer has already payed for his wrongs with his life. Merlin’s position is back there waiting for him, if he chooses to accept it. Arthur must not have told him about the magic. The thought makes Merlin smile, but he casts the letter into the fireplace. Camelot is haunted now. 

Merlin manages to avoid thinking about Camelot for the most part until mid-winter when gossip shakes the streets. Uther is dead, the Arthur is set to take the throne. It’s tempting to go check and make sure he’s doing alright with the loss, but Merlin resists the urge. 

Arthur legalizes magic around springtime. Hunith urges Merlin to return, seeing how the light has left her son’s eyes. Merlin refuses.

The days bleed into one another. Merlin’s life has become a dull and miserable pattern: wake up, eat, tend to the farm, sleep. Nothing matters anymore. It hasn’t for a long time. 

Until one summer evening. 

“Mommy, Mommy, look!” 

The little girl’s cheers amount several other gasps and shouts. Loud hooves trample on the ground, approaching Merlin’s house. Annoyed, he pulls the covers over his head, already unimpressed with whatever farm boy splurged on a fancy horse in the marketplace.

“Merlin!” Hunith calls from the kitchen. “Merlin, wake up, you need to come see this.” 

“Not interested. We have perfectly fine horses around here, paying too much for a thoroughbred is just silly. It’ll probably be eaten by wolves in the next few days anyway.” 

“No— Merlin, come on! Seriously!” With a groan, Merlin drags himself up and stands with Hunith at the window. It isn’t a farm boy on some ridiculous horse. It’s a red-haired knight on a steed that bears a scarlet crest. 

“Leon!?” Merlin rushes outside, not caring that he’s still in sleep attire. Leon looks delighted to see him. 

“Merlin! I have an urgent message from the king.” 

“Arthur? Is he alright?” 

“Yes. He has a proposition for you.” Leon demounts the horse, leaving it to the crowd of adoring children who excitedly run their fingers along its glossy pelt. “Camelot needs a new physician. Arthur requests it be a sorcerer.” Merlin blinks in disbelief.

“Arthur wants a sorcerer on the royal staff?”

“Yes. He’s become very welcoming to them. It turns out, when used for intentions of good, magic is incredibly useful.” Merlin chokes out a laugh, utterly stunned. Arthur did it. There’s peace in Camelot for his kind. He’s become his own man and damned what his father said. He did it. 

“Does this mean Arthur wants Merlin to be the royal physician?” Hunith’s voice is colored in excitement. Leon smiles and nods. “Oh, Merlin, you must!” Merlin is smiling too, but he shakes his head.

“Tell Arthur thanks for the offer, but I can’t.”

“What?” Leon and Hunith say in unison. 

“I’m not going to take the job of the man I got killed. I couldn’t.” 

“Merlin, it wasn’t your fault.” His mother tries. 

“She’s right. Cenred’s physician is the only one to blame for Gauis’s death.” 

“No, I—“ Merlin takes a breath. “I’m sorry.” Leon thins out his lips, displeased. 

“Arthur thought you might say that. He also said that if you do, I must take you to Camelot so you can converse in person.”

“No. I… I don’t deserve to see him.” 

“He also said you’d say that, and that when you do, I should, um…” Leon glances around the floor, evidently looking for something. Merlin blinks, curious. 

“What are you looking for?”

“Er, a large plank of wood.” 

“Why?” 

“Uh, Arthur says when you say that, I should hit you over the head with a large plank of wood and carry your unconscious body to Camelot.” Merlin laughs at this, the first genuine laugh he’s done in awhile. 

“You know what? Fine.”

“Fine? You’ll take the job?” 

“No. But I’ll come to Camelot. It’s more polite to reject a job offer in person. Especially such a generous one.” Leon smiles a little. It’s not the answer he wanted, obviously, but it’s better than him having to club his friend over the head with a wooden plank. 

“Right then. We should be off, Arthur wanted us back as soon as possible.” Merlin nods and turns to Hunith. 

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” She smiles warmly and reaches out to touch his cheek.

“As much as I love having you around, I hope you aren’t. Please, at least think about taking the job. You’ve been so unhappy lately.”

“I will,” Merlin lies, already having made up his mind. This unhappiness is a punishment. He deserves it. Well, what he really deserves is death, but there was no way to achieve that around here, with multiple pair of eyes always on him. 

There’s another horse tied to a tree at the mouth of the woods. Merlin climbs on and trots after Leon, heading to the place he never thought he’d see again. 

It’s not until they’re approaching the royal gates that Merlin realizes he’s still in his pajamas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> So yeah, I'm really sorry this took sooooooo long to update but guess what! It's gonna be a series now! Yay!!!????!!!! 
> 
> Stay tuned for more angst fluff and gayness ;) 
> 
> (I'll be better at updating the next part of the series I promise)

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this story kinda just came to me in a dream and I thought it'd be SO COOL to write down and yeah. I love trilogies so it's gonna be three chapters as of now. 
> 
> Tell me what you think!!!


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